As the anniversary of her father’s imprisonment into Azkaban approached, Genevieve found herself more on edge than usual. Every year had been the same, feelings of anxiousness at the date arrived, she had begun to anticipate it more than her own birthday. Her stomach had formed nervous knots at the idea that the year would not reach its completion, that somehow her father would return to her and everything would return to normal. It had been almost four years and even then, she could clearly remember the events surrounding her father’s imprisonment, so much so that it felt as if it had happened yesterday. A week short of her birthday, Genevieve had been anxious, her mind drawing conclusions from her father’s behavior as to what gift awaited her that year. She had begged for a unicorn, had done so since she was five years old, and had a rising suspicion that he planned to make good on the promise he had made years prior. By thirteen years old, the teenager had her father wrapped around her little finger and she was almost certain that he would not deny her what she wished.

But her flight of fancy into the world of her own imagination took a sudden turn for the worst as she turned the corner to find a group of people, Ministry officials, she assumed by their clothing and the stern look on their faces, and her poor father, his gaze lowered to the ground in an expression of defeat in handcuffs, roughly pulled along towards the front door. It did not take much for Genevieve to figure out what was happening and it was with the assumption she had made that the teenager broke down into tears, Effie holding her back as she attempted to run after him. The door to the estate opened to a flash of cameras, it had been a good thing that Effie had kept her from him, and the Daily Prophet would have found a way of turning the misery of a young girl losing her father to something more sinister and sensational. Of course, it was also something that Genevieve held on to until now, one of the many reasons that she had grown distant and quite displeased with her maid. She had not only been robbed of her father but also of her opportunity to say goodbye, and it was not something the young woman would ever let go of.

Since his imprisonment, Genevieve had been strictly prohibited from visiting him at Azkaban. She was unsure of the reason behind it, but her uncle had been firm enough to frighten her into doing as she was told. Nevertheless, the forceful separation only made her grow bitter towards everyone else around her. Although it pained her to admit it, the imprisonment of her mother had made sense—Hesperia Lovecraft had murdered a young witch at a tea house in broad daylight and while Genevieve wanted to disagree, had been served the rightful punishment appropriate for the crime. Leonidas Grosvenor, however, had been charged with a series of crimes and proven guilty with circumstantial evidence and without a trial. The Ministry knew that what they were doing was wrong but were trying to make a point, to send a message. The Grosvenors had been careful about demonstrating their allegiances but it was quite obvious who they supported, it was simply a matter of connection the family to the crime, something that the Ministry had been unable to do.

Uncle Septimus, whom had so graciously taken guardianship of her when her father was sent to prison, had promised to get justice for his younger brother. A man of his word, Genevieve expected justice and when he promised to have the sentencing overturned, the already impatient young woman had grown desperate with a need to see something, anything that demonstrated that action was being taken. As the fourth year of her father’s imprisonment approached swiftly, the young woman had decided that she had had enough. She would not wait a moment longer, it was unfair that she should have to suffer when everyone around her simply continued on their lives as if nothing had happened. The family had lost two members to Azkaban and proceeded as normal, and it was a combination of despair, desperation, and impatience that gave her the courage to make her way down to her uncle’s office to confront him about his incompetence in the dealing of her father’ issue.

She knocked firmly on the door, allowing herself in before the man had an opportunity to respond. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the portrait of him behind his desk, the looming and imposing figure he was had been captivated perfectly. Every line of his ever present scowl meticulously added, his piercing grey-blue eyes even colder than the real thing. “Uncle Septimus, I demand to know what is being done about my father,” she stated very firmly, taking a seat, her hands neatly folded in her lap. “It’s been almost four years, you promised me that you would do everything in your power,” she said before heaving a sigh, lowering her gaze into her lap, “you said that you would have it sorted and it’s been such a long time. I haven’t even been allowed to see him, you know that he is not guilty for the crimes he was charged with. He’s you’re younger brother, why has no progress been made?” she took a deep breath before looking back up at him, “If I must get involved in order to get my father the justice he deserves, then I will. It is quite obvious that his release is not your priority and if it is, I hope you do not mind me saying, you are going about it quite inefficiently,” she said, the anger evident in her words. She took a deep breath, wondering if she had gone too far but shook her head for more resolve, “I will not stand for my father to be at Azkaban for one more year, are you waiting for him to lose his mind? Nothing was even done about my mother, why should your brother receive such low treatment?”

Strong hands clasped together as they were held together behind his back, resting against the soft fabric of the suit that hung along his frame flawlessly, his gaze took in the sight of his youngest child. Amounting to much would be hard for the young boy who was cast in the deep shadow of his brothers worth. Worth that made him less important and in a way free to be himself where Augustus was forced to live the life his father laid for him. Septimus had known what it was like to be the golden child. He knew the strain such responsibility put on a sibling relationship, after all, calling the authorities to ensure the imprisonment of his own brother had been a calculated move. A move that had been in the works since his brother lost his wife to the same prison, it seemed fitting that they share similar cells. In his mind, Septimus felt he was teaching the valuable lesson that all actions have consequences but really he simply wanted his brother gone. Killing the other man wasn’t an option, far too many questions, but locking him away proved far too easy. Full lips pursed as Augustus came into view and he thought briefly that the boy mirrored him in his youth.

He reminded Septimus that he was no longer the reigning voice in their household, at least not for long. His jaw tightened and he turned to walk back to his desk, the disappointment clear in his expression. Despite the responsibility given to his eldest son the boy somehow still fell short. Septimus had no proud moments outside of the boys birth and those rare moments he saw a spark of cruelty. The man felt his son had been dimmed by the unconditional love of his mother and he tried his best to make him perfect but molding him proved a hard task not worth the effort. Oh, how he wished for better sons, worthy sons, but he would have to make do – had made do for years as best he could. The constant disappointment was tiresome and Septimus was all out if advice and harsh lessons. The only saving grace came in the shape of a womanly figure and was of no use to the man’s grand plan despite Victoria’s many attempts and appealing displays. He heaved a sigh as he sunk into the plush softness of his office chair. The darkest parts of his hedonistic mind sought out another harsh lesson, someway to deprive the heir to all he had perfected of the last splinterings of his hope. He needed to snuff out the good in his son if ever he was to lead the right way.

Emotions held no place next to power they didn’t mix well and Septimus would never be okay with his dynasty crumbling because Augustus felt. He himself was a hard man whose emotions were rightfully reserved for private moments with his wife, the anchor to his humanity and the holder of the leash to his unforgiving anger. He should have worked harder to break the boy, should have started sooner to ensure the smile Augustus sometimes wore had to been ripped from him. There was still time, Septimus hoped. His gaze rose with the opening of the heavy oak door to his office and the man lifted a brow as his niece entered, a rare occasion if ever he had one. Vaguely the man thought how despite her parentless childhood she had turned out as he had hoped his own children would. She was reckless, yes of course, but she was also bold and honest in all that she did. Which, was more than he could say of his own legacies. Genevieve was truly a gem among the rocks that usually surrounded the man. Septimus simply nodded at her words, at the tone she took and the authority she displayed. On a good day, he might have been amused – maybe – but she spoke to him in a manner unbefitting of her station.

“First,” the man started “you will rise from that chair and exit my office and reenter like you’ve been raised among civilized people.” His jaw flexed as his gaze bore into her, “Then you will apologize for assuming you have the right to speak to me as if I answer to you.” Long fingers came together as a perch for his chin as his elbows found the smooth surface of his desk. The audacity, the sheer lack of respect and her sense of entitlement was enough to flair his already short temper. If only she knew the truth, knew the lengths taken to make sure her father stayed where he was. Septimus cleared his throat once she re-entered the room and his hand rose as if to dismiss whatever half-decent apology she’d come up with in the few minutes time. Arguing with her would prove exhausting but the man simply needed a moment to adjust to her sudden intrusion. "I am well aware of the length of time that has gone by, it's not as if it was such a fleeting moment in our lives - these four years." He scoffed, watching her "You storm in here and question what I have done to free my own brother?" His frown was well placed as shook his head in disgust which was real, unlike his words, "I have done everything!" He snapped, "What have you done?"

His expression was cold as he stared at her, leaning forward a bit "Nothing, so how dare you think you could ever question me?" His eyes rolled and despite himself, he chose to be honest, "He is guilty of far more than you will ever be capable of understanding. Perhaps, later when you have grown more and lived life, but," He paused as his gaze swept over her, "that seems rather unlikely." His brother may not have committed the crimes he had been charged with but that didn't mean that the other man wasn't deserving of his punishment, even if, it was selfish. "You entitled youth are so amusing thinking that the world owes you something, that others should bend to your will because of wealth? What portion have you cultivated to have such authority?" He chuckled as he moved to stand, inhaling deep "How can you be so certain that justice hasn't already taken it's course? Your mother, as you so boldly mentioned got what was deserving." His tall frame moved from behind the desk, his movements slow and measured as he moved to sit on the edge of the desk next to her.

"I assure you, Genevieve, your subpar efforts would prove nothing in an attempt to best me. You've mistaken me for one of the adolescent boys beyond these walls. That imaginary power you think you possess is apparently as feeble as your mind if you can't think rationally." His lips pursed, "Which isn't very surprising considering all things, but really, I expected more of you. I thought you had some semblance of grace and dignity."

It had been slightly presumptuous of her to believe that her uncle would allow her to speak her mind so freely without consequences—he was, after all, always finding a reason to punish Augustus and while Genevieve had never been given such treatment in the past, her position as niece did not spare her from her uncle’s flares of anger. While she was eternally grateful for his willingness to take her in after losing not one but both of her parents, that childhood admiration and love she had once held for him had transformed into something ugly over time. Of course he had accepted to be her guardian, it was his job. And while he may not like the things that proceeded forth from her, the young witch had always been particularly bold, sometimes to a fault, there was very little that he could do without her making a big fuss about it. In her mind, her unfortunate childhood played a large role in her uncle’s treatment and consideration of her feelings and it was a card she planned to play for as long as she lived under his roof.

Therefore, when he told her to stand up, leave from his office and re-enter, Genevieve did as she was asked, partly for fear of what he should do should she disobey but mostly because this was not the war she wished to fight. Those two minutes did little to move her towards guilt, if she felt sorry for anything within the span of her exit and re-entry, it was that she had not spoken more boldly and given him a few choice words which she had been wanting to say to him for some time. Genevieve did not make it a habit of visiting his office for that very reason. Unlike her own parents, Uncle Septimus enjoyed exercising discipline and control over the young woman, and it was something that she had little tolerance for. Her own parents had oftentimes saw things her way, years of practice had made her big, blue-grey eyes and a slight quivering of her bottom lip their weakness and for a large part of her life, Genevieve had been able to live as she liked. It felt almost unnatural to follow the directions of others without protest, unlike Augustus, she had never been trained to fall in line.

She attempted to come up with an apology but genuine words failed her, “I-“ she started but was moved to silence by his hand. Her jaw clenched slightly, her long fingernails digging into the palm of her hand as she held her tongue, it would not do to argue with him. Genevieve knew men like this, their entire purpose was based on the need to control others because they could not bear the shortcomings of their own existence, and considering how little he had accomplished in life compared to what Augustus would do in the future, it was obvious that he needed to be indulged. So, she indulged him and sat there, listening as he proceeded to insult her for her behavior but doing very little to persuade her that anything was being done at all. Augustus, she trusted unconditionally, her Uncle Septimus, on the other hand, left much to be desired in the department of honesty.

She leaned back as he sat closer to her, his sudden proximity making her a little nervous but it was only for a moment before she regained her composure, she took a deep breath, looking up at him and forcing a smile onto her face. “Surely uncle you’ve also inherited this lifestyle; our family riches go back to say…the eleventh century? Of course we appreciate your efforts in keeping this family together but I do not think that you’ve done anything particularly special of being remembered for,” she widened her eyes a little, in feigned embarrassment, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, she smiled nervously, “Not that I do not admire you, Uncle, you graciously took me in when I had no one else and now you have the ability to do something truly great, ensuring the safe return of your brother and giving your niece, whom you love and care for so much, the one thing she desires more than anything else in world,” she moved to stand up, putting some distance between them as she walked around his desk to stand in front of the large portrait, looking up at it in admiration.

“I would never pretend to possess power, I am quite aware of my position in this family, uncle, and considering how far I am from being heir, I have no desire to possess any. All I ask,” she turned to him, her expression growing serious, “All I truly ask from you, after all these years, is that you guarantee the return of my father. Whatever crimes you think he was responsible for, he is surely not guilt of, and even if he was, I am well aware of the influence the Grosvenor family wields,” she continued. “It’s all very difficult for me, Uncle Septimus,” she says with a sigh, looking back up at the painting, “to think that the one man I know has the ability to do this for me, won’t do this and I simply cannot understand what I have ever done to deserve such unkind words from you,” she closes her eyes, focusing on whatever terrible thought she could think of at the moment to encourage the corners of her eyes to tear up. She sniffled a little, turning to her uncle again with hopes that her saddened expression would lessen his anger.

“Tell me exactly what you’d like for me to do to bring my father back home and consider it done,” she says, her voice straining just slightly, “Because I’ve done everything in my power to do what I can to bring him back and it was obviously not enough. Should I go to the Ministry on my own? Should I print something in the papers? I’ve kept silent because I do not wish to bring any unnecessary attention to our family. So with your permission, I would like to contact the Daily Prophet and speak to them of such great injustices and will trouble you no longer.”

His cool gaze took her in, perched in an elegantly designed chair, as she spoke words of reasoning. She knew nothing of what he gave for the well-being of their family. She knew nothing of responsibility; of sacrifice. No, these youth only knew of their entitlement. They only understood gluttony and their own condemnable vanity. Septimus had once been foolish in his youth living under the belief that the wealth he had been born into, was somehow solely his. The man had done unspeakable things in the name of power. But, never were his actions greedy, never did he take more than he was entitled to. He had after all been raised proper. Septimus may have stolen his seat at the head of the table but he had worked hard to erase doubt that he should sit high, perched on his imaginary throne.

“Yes, much like you I did not come into this world with much accomplished and still I was given wealth.” Once more his lips pursed before the man gave a dark chuckle, “Though, unlike you and the misfortune that is the heir to all that surrounds us, I gave parts of myself.” Bits of his soul and pieces of his dignity, “I earn my portion rather than thinking it was simply my own to take. Some trophy to be won and seated up high on a mantle.” It had always been more. Something pure and dangerous; power. The money, the connections, the sway it all made walking away seem impossible. His words had been partly true – meaning – some of what he now called his own had been taken, stolen away with very little remorse. Remorse led to terrible choices, to missteps that left a person only portions of who they intended to be. “One would think my kindness would be enough, but, why would it when your generation is so greedy and selfish?”

The nerve; sheer lack of respect from his niece sent his blood boiling and for a moment he considered breaking her. He thought of well placed words and looks that would test her down inwardly as he watched the display on the surface. He knew of all the things he could say only the truth would fully destroy her. He had taken her in when he had wanted nothing more than to do the opposite. To deny her solace in an attempt to exert his power but..it proved hard. Septimus wanted to do more than punish his brother – he wanted to destroy the other mans foundation, to ruin whst he would leave behind as his only legacy. Yet, the former Slytherin couldn’t. He may have been heartless at times but light still peeked from his soul, enough that told him her innocence shouldn’t be shattered. She had afterall witness more than a child her age should and to toss her to the wolves would only make things worse. At least in those days that’s what he told himself, what he repeated and he stood outside the frame of her door while she slept. A guest in his home that help the power to dobwhat he had never been able to; wreck his brother beyond repair.

She had been too young to allow her to completely crumble, but now, now she was well over the age of proper understanding. She had suffered her own heartaches and new the world was not meant to cater to the weak and hold up the frail. It was a fight of wills and desire that could ultimately create the worlds greatest leaders. If she wasn’t well educated the man told himself he would teach her the harsh lessons of life so that that glint of hope in the back of her gaze could vanish. Only these harsh lessons told the youth of her generation that the world was meant to be hard as was life – if only to build up character; which none seemed to have. They spoke with little respect and regarded others as if they owed them something grand. Septimus would have to remind her, hell them all, that youth only granted you small joys. The freedom from responsibility and a time to stumble and learn from mistakes. Mistakes he was sure would otherwise haunt them terribly as they were coddled by warm embraces and loving mothers.

Septimus let his cool gaze rest on Genevieve for a moment before the man turned his gaze to the window. “This has nothing to do with admiration. “ he wanted to be clear and leave no room for doubt. “Children seek out admiration as validation that they’ve done something special when they had only done what someone before then had done a thousand times.” He scoffed at her audacity “You come to my office perched high upon your horse speaking to me as if I am your lesser. Now,” his eyes rolled just slightly to show his annoyance” you sprout these words of admiration as if somehow it will set flame to my cold dead heart.” Of this she knew now that she was wrong. “I’ve done truly great things that were far more important than the release of a guilty man.” He looked up at the portrait of himself as he stood, adjusting his vest as he did so.

“Power has nothing to do with station.” Once more he felt disappointment that she had fallen short. “Power is the will of a man. The passion one possesses for the better of themselves. You young kids believe it has to do with wealth and material things. “ he scoffed but he allowed his eyes to soften, the corner of his lips twitch in what one would assume was a forming smile “Of course I guarantee. I will make sure that things move along quickly.” he found his gaze on her as her as he spun to face the larger version of himself just on the wall behind him. For a moment – one fleeting moment – he nearly believed the breaking of her voice and was almost swayed by the mist in her eyes. “I don’t want to disappoint you.” He lied smoothly as he gave a smile “I know how difficult this is for you, knowing that he should be home. And you are right he should.”

Septimus made note then to ensure the key to that cell never touched the lock. Not for fear of facing his own faults but to keep a brewing war at bay. It was not lost on those who knew Septimus well that his hand played favor in his brothers incarceration. “We can only do our best and hope that it makes a change.” He moved towards the window, “Spraying our names in the papers does nothing but shine a negative light.” It was like a well played game of chess and he needed to take the queen off the board. Well, Genevieve was no queen but she sure had the making of one. “we have a working relationships with important people including those within the ministry. How are we to sway anyone when we cast doubt upon our allies?” A lesson in the art of war was needed even if only as a distraction.

“I will have Augustus improve his efforts.” Thrown g his son under the metaphorical bus wasn’t hard, the man enjoyed tormenting the boy far more than he should. “I should be concerned that he has no surfaced with results. No matter I will a proper job.” Another false promise before he finally turned to look at her. “I am not saying don’t try…” her efforts wouldn’t matter “Just do so privately. Hushed conversations and closed door meets go farther than political attacks in the paper.” He moved towards her “Your incentive to come to me have proved in your favor. However, I would be remiss not to remind you such bold actions can sway in the opposite favor in the future.” A gentle reminder that her station was, well, one that did not grant her his attention even if she had his audience.

Genevieve clenched her hand into itself, allowing for her sharp fingernails to find comfort within the crescent-shaped scars found on the inside of her palm. It had been a coping mechanism for the young witch; something that had developed into a habit in her early adolescent years when she had often needed solace from the unconventional horrors of real life. Lately, it had transformed into a sort of warning, something performed with the intention to remind her to stay calm and detached, to not allow her uncle’s unkind remarks get the best of her. Should she break her façade, she knew that the game of wits between them would be over.

Nevertheless, it was difficult for her to control herself when he spoke so carelessly about her cousin Augustus who had held a deep place within her heart for years. The two of them were devastatingly close; after all, he was the only one, apart from her extensive diary collection, that was well aware of her deepest, darkest secrets and desires. To hear him be belittled by the man that she secretly wanted to disappear was too much even for the young witch.

“By your standards my accomplishments might not amount to much but considering the personal struggles with which I’ve been faced, I’d like to think I’d done quite well for myself,” she responded arrogantly. “As for Augustus, well it could also be said that he has given most if not all of himself to learning all that is expected of him, Septimus,” she replied, a bitterness evident in her voice, one that she could not shake out of it. Every syllable in his name was produced with resentfulness and even then, it was only a fraction of the negative emotions she felt towards the head of the household.

It upset her that the man before her dared to call her cousin a misfortune considering the sorts of abuses that he put up with for the sake of being the man his father could be proud of. While she could never condone that sort of behavior, she understood the weight upon her cousin’s shoulders; it was one that she had never had to bear on her own. In a way, Genevieve was more thankful for Augustus than she was for Septimus; her older cousin oftentimes placed himself in the line of fire to allow her to live her whimsical life. But she shook the thought away, Genevieve was well aware that he would be very displeased to find out that she had gone straight to his father, something that Septimus would be sure to punish Augustus for in one way or another.

Nevertheless, her resentment towards him did not end there. It was also the way in which he based his argument on a companion of their lives, as if Genevieve had done absolutely nothing to deserve the surname she carried around like a medal of honor. Although the young witch knew deep down that there was some truth in the words he spoke, she did not want to admit to such thoughts so openly. After all, he was still the enemy here who seemed to be actively avoiding the subject of her father’s release.

“I do admire you, uncle,” she stated rather plainly, though some of the charm she had hoped to hold had been completely exhausted on her fabricated acclaim. “To be able to hold the respect of this household even though you’ve never…actively been involved in the upholding of our beliefs or our family tradition—I mean no disrespect but you are certainly no Gaius Purcell or Hesperia Lovecraft,” she responded innocently. Though she did not expect for him to become offended by such a comparison, the thought that he would become even more irate due to her audacity to say such things was something that she would consider a win in her book. Her fist clenched even harder, “My father is not guilty, you may not like the tone which I have taken with you but there is no need for the spreading of absolute untruths,” she responded, clenching her jaw just slightly. It was uncharacteristic for Genevieve to be so short tempered in the presence of adult figures, particularly those of authority, however the witch had had enough of this and the thought that her father would have to bear another night in Azkaban was heartbreaking.

“However we both are well aware that power is not earned, it’s taken and certainly not with kindness,” she added, “nevertheless such things are beside the point, I am well aware of the…position that you wield in this household,” she continued. “And I am not here to talk about how much power you have and how long you will be in such a position before our dear Augustus takes over,” she retorted, allowing herself to smile as sweetly as she could as if to distract him from thinking that she could not wait for him to meet death early and painfully. Genevieve knew that it was the Grosvenor in her that hoped for such a thing; though at this point, she had made it more or less obvious that she did not hold much love for the man that was apparently her relative.

But there were no time for tears. Genevieve regained her bearings just in time, listening to his long-winded speech, not because she had felt stirred by his words or desired to show him the respect he believed he deserved. Rather, it was with the aim to find a way to compel him to quicken the pace and do as she asked. While she had no reason to believe that Septimus was intentionally delaying her father’s release, it had been made clear that it was not the first thing on his mind. Genevieve knew the sort of influence the Grosvenors wielded, she had seen it clearly displayed every time something of great importance needed to be done, no matter how dark the dealing. “I do want to believe that, uncle, deep in my heart,” she started, bringing her hand to her chest for the sake of show, “but do know that this is not about disappointing me but rather about doing the right thing, releasing a man that was unjustly imprisoned by a broken system, at least we can both agree on this,” she attempted to reason.

Though her threats had been light, part of Genevieve desired to share her findings in the newspaper for the sake of moving things along. But then again, as part of the household and someone that was often in the papers for the wrong reasons, it was a dangerous path to take. But the consideration of these options did not take long as it was his last statement, something between a low blow towards his son or an uncharacteristic oversharing of information that left her thinking deeply about the status quo of her father’s case. If Augustus had been handling this all along, would it not be sensible to believe that he would have made significant progress? Genevieve knew how efficient he could be, he had been trained by a man who knew the art of closely a deal swiftly and discreetly. “I was not aware that…Augie had taken command of this issue, had I known I would have consulted him directly,” she stated, slightly dumbfounded by the revelation. Had Augustus betrayed her? The thought was equal parts frightening and infuriating. Forcing a smile on her face she nodded slowly, attempting to hide the mixture of expressions evident on her face. “Of course, I appreciate you seeing me today,” she added as a last attempt to remedy the situation, becoming considerably concerned at the possibility that it had not been her uncle but in fact, the heir that was tampering with her future. They would have a word after this and it would certainly not be a kind one.

“I will keep such things in mind in the future, have a good afternoon,” she stated and just like that, turned around to make her exit.